


Down Beside Your Red Firelight

by englandwouldfalljohn



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angel Crowley (Good Omens), Cunnilingus, Demon Aziraphale (Good Omens), Dowling Era, F/F, Female Aziraphale (Good Omens), Female Crowley (Good Omens), Femslash, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Gardener Crowley (Good Omens), Ineffable Wives | Female Aziraphale/Female Crowley (Good Omens), Love Confessions, Nanny aziraphale, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Reverse Omens, Smut, soft, soft smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 23:49:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29234058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/englandwouldfalljohn/pseuds/englandwouldfalljohn
Summary: Crowley thinks nothing of flames burning in Aziraphale’s hearth as they share a glass of wine that first winter at the Dowling residence. Little does she know, when a dark-stockinged leg catches her eye, the reflection of that red firelight is about to change everything.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 38
Collections: Ineffable Wives Femslash February 2021





	Down Beside Your Red Firelight

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [EchoSilverWolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EchoSilverWolf/pseuds/EchoSilverWolf/works) for the delicious prompt!

AJ Crowley was a capable gardener, but for all her many years on this Earth, she was no poet. As she gazed into the hearth on these early winter nights, she did not see tongues of scarlet and crimson, nor dragons wrestling with the heroes of old. When Crowley looked into the flames, she simply saw red. Fire had never stirred her before, had never seemed especially beautiful or off-putting. She had brandished a flaming sword once upon a time, but that was eons ago, and perhaps ‘brandished’ was too strong a word anyway, if she were honest. She hadn’t missed it when she gave it away, hadn’t missed its weight or warmth, or experienced any other prosaic longing one might assign in hindsight. No, it had only been what it was, and that was enough. 

Tonight, though, the red was more than it seemed. She and Aziraphale—that lovely, soft, devilishly tempting creature with whom she had schemed this situation into existence only a few short months ago—were sharing a conspiratorial evening of wine and conversation before the governess’s fireplace. Frances, as Aziraphale had taken to calling herself in the presence of the Dowlings, eschewed the term ‘nanny;’ indeed, she would have had Crowley’s head if she’d dared to call her that. Crowley thought, one day, she might like to try. 

Aziraphale stretched one stocking-clad foot toward the fire, then another, crossing them demurely at the ankle. Oh, she knew perfectly well what she was doing, Crowley was sure, though neither had yet conceded interest in more than an extra glass or two of… whatever it was Aziraphale was serving. Crowley didn’t know wine, that was Aziraphale’s department. Wine, and creme brûlée, which the darling demon prepared to perfection with that teeny tiny flame thrower she kept in a locked drawer. For all her wiles, Aziraphale would take no risks where little Warlock was concerned. Crowley loved her all the more for it. 

As they tucked further into the bottle of whatever-it-was, Aziraphale pointed at toe at the fireplace, eliciting an enormous pop, and sending one small log slipping down toward the grate. The light reflected off black stockings, illuminating the threads of red weaving a sombre tartan pattern over a flexed ankle… a curved calf… the dip behind her knee… a strong thigh…

‘Crowley?’ There was a hint of laughter in Aziraphale’s voice. She wasn’t mocking, as she so often did. She was—Heaven help her—she was inviting. 

Crowley licked her lips slowly, tearing her eyes from where the inky tide of Aziraphale’s skirt had risen precariously toward her waist. Her eyes trailed upward, over the soft curves of her breasts, straining further against the buttons of her top with every breath. Crowley’s fingers twitched as she stretched a desperate hand out slowly, so incredibly slowly, and unfastened the top button. Only then did she risk eye contact, and what she found was almost enough to blow her wings out onto this plane. Aziraphale’s eyes mirrored the flames, without losing a single bit of their brilliant blue. Crowley had seen unbridled want in humans, of course she had. But this was something else entirely. This was otherworldly, ethereal. This was a desire that Crowley would sooner Fall from Heaven than deny her love. 

Without a word, she knelt at Aziraphale’s feet, allowing her fingers to continue their devilishly blessed work of releasing that perfect body before her from its trappings. One button, two, three. Crowley tucked her fingers inside the shirt, allowing her knuckles to skim along the curve of Aziraphale’s breasts as they rose toward her. Four buttons, five, six. Crowley leaned in, wondering whether she would be welcome to touch, to feel, to taste. Aziraphale must have read the uncertainty on her face; she sunk her hands deep into Crowley’s loose curls and pulled her down, pressing her face gently against her breasts. Crowley sighed at the slide of velvety skin on her cheek, and summoned her courage to slip craving hands underneath the fabric of Aziraphale’s open shirt and around her luscious waist. When they met in the back, she fumbled for a moment before releasing the hook and half the zip of her skirt. Aziraphale pulled her back lightly by her hair, dropping off the chair onto her knees and leaning up to catch Crowley’s lips with her own. 

Aziraphale’s kiss was the colour of twilight, the defiant plum tone of the sky refusing to relinquish to darkness. She tasted of wine and fog. Crowley grew more intoxicated by the moment, and wondered if she would ever find the desire to sober. Wonderful, helpful gravity drew Aziraphale’s unfastened skirt to the floor, and she slipped her legs out of it with a grace to which Crowley could only hope to aspire. Crowley dared dip her hands lower, until she was holding the voluptuous curves of Aziraphale’s stunning arse, and after millennia of craving, finally let herself squeeze, drawing their bodies flush together. Aziraphale moaned into her mouth, and Crowley felt herself grow wet with want. Tonight, she would chase what she’s denied herself for far too long…

The fingertips of Crowley’s right hand spread wide as she dragged them across the thin stockings hiding Aziraphale’s thighs. She traced the lines of muscle halfway to her knee, then around to the inside of her thigh. An inch… an inch further… 

‘Please?’ Crowley whispered, and it was more begging than not. 

Aziraphale released one hand from where she was stroking the soft hair at the nape of Crowley’s neck, and placed it over Crowley’s stilled fingers. She moved both their hands up, up, and as they stroked together between her legs, Aziraphale’s stockings split, silently and evenly, falling away from the warmth of her body. 

Crowley’s breath caught in her throat as her fingers were left alone to stroke against wet satin, barely covering what she could only think of as Heaven on Earth. Denizen of Hell or not, what Aziraphale was offering her was more glorious than any prayer she could summon. She must have been staring, for Aziraphale leaned into her ear. 

‘Crowley…’ It was a request, a welcome, and Crowley worried she might discorporate on the spot. Fancy explaining  _ that _ back at headquarters. 

Aziraphale knew what she wanted, what they both wanted, and laid herself out on her back before the fire, languorous and shimmering with desire. Crowley followed, her body no longer within her mind’s control, and pressed her belly down into the rug between Aziraphale’s waiting thighs. The first two fingers of her left hand stroked again, black fabric molding to the contours of Aziraphale’s form, and suddenly, she was starving. Crowley peeled the satin back, gasping at the image before her. Firelight glistened off the wet curves of Aziraphale’s labia, and Crowley could see the depth of her desire as muscles clenched and trembled before her eyes. She reached out a desperate forefinger and traced through soft dark hair, rolling the gorgeous slickness of her lover in ever-tightening circles. Breath came shorter from above, until Crowley finally, achingly slowly, pressed her finger into Aziraphale’s body. Deep, ragged moans were torn from both their throats, and Crowley found she couldn’t wait one moment longer. 

She lowered herself down and plunged her needy tongue into Aziraphale, wrapping her arms around thick thighs and striving to taste every last ounce of that brilliant body. She wanted, and she wanted  _ now. _ Crowley slipped a finger in alongside her lapping tongue, sucking and reaching for that one spot that she knew from self-exploration would bring Aziraphale that much more pleasure. 

A cry of, ‘Oh, there! Right there!’ told Crowley she had found it, and if it were up to her, she would never be fool enough to let it go. Even this, though, was not enough. She ran the fingers of her other hand alongside her tongue until they were slick, then pressed them into Aziraphale’s clit and began to roll them, shifting the degree of pressure every time she came close to the edge. Aziraphale’s body was shaking beneath her, and the fire roared on, flames crackling and climbing with each moan stifled by Aziraphale biting into the back of her own hand. 

‘Please,’ she begged, as Crowley pulled herself even deeper, delving her tongue into the softest, hottest world she could imagine. Aziraphale tasted of nectar and honey, of an oasis in the desert. As she began to writhe beneath her, Crowley doubled her efforts, moving her tongue in time to the convulsing muscles around it. She could not resist rolling her own hips against the rug, getting nothing like enough friction against her own clit and knowing she would not be sleeping much that night as she worked her own body to the tune of these memories. As she pressed down again hard against Aziraphale’s clit, a sudden tensing around her tongue came to match the clench of fingers in her hair, pushing her impossibly deeper as delicious liquid flowed into her mouth. When Aziraphale’s grip relaxed, she sucked lightly, once, twice, then kissed the insides of her thighs until her whole body melted into the carpet. 

Despite what they had shared milliseconds ago, Crowley was nervous as she crawled up to lie beside Aziraphale. The blonde smiled lightly, then broke into a joyful laugh, beaming with all the power of the sun.

‘You know I love you.’

Crowley was incredulous. Whatever she had expected to hear, it was not that. 

‘Always have done. And now…’ she sighed happily, and wiggled against the hearth rug, ‘now, I might just love that almost as much.’

Crowley’s face flushed, and Aziraphale laughed again. 

‘Give me a few moments of bliss, and we’ll see if I can live up to your talents, alright, angel?’

Crowley smiled shyly and let her gaze fall to the flames. Her fondness was growing for that red firelight. 


End file.
